


a light to guide you home

by Marie (VampireSpider)



Series: after the war [2]
Category: Charité | Charité at War (TV)
Genre: M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireSpider/pseuds/Marie
Summary: Martin and Otto, and Anni, after the war.
Relationships: Otto Marquardt/Martin Schelling
Series: after the war [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774897
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	a light to guide you home

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to [a light in the window](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408409). It may make more sense to read that first.
> 
> Warnings for period typical attitudes and also descriptions of the post war landscape. There are hints at PTSD/on going trauma in the fic, but it is primarily as subtext.

Magda greeted him in the nursing staff room with a sombre look on her face. Martin groaned, pulling his scrub coat over his shirt and tie. “Erich?” he asked. 

Magda nodded, squeezing his shoulder. “I am sorry,” she said and then glanced at the door, “and I have more bad news.” 

“Oh good,” he said. As if Erich’s passing wasn’t bad enough; he was one of their regular patients, recovering from a combination of malnutrition and a misaligned broken leg, both souvenirs of his time in a KZ-camp. Erich must have been a quiet, soft-spoken man, and there were clear traces of who had been before the war. But he had been in a camp for three years, and his health refused to recover. 

Martin had been expecting the news, but it didn’t make it easier. He wondered what the other bad news was, waiting for Magda to do their customary checks to make sure they weren’t being overhead. 

“What is it, Magda?” he asked, because they were alone. It was hard to shake, this habit of secrecy, worrying about being overhead. There were still soldiers patrolling the streets outside and sometimes, Martin felt like the war hadn’t ended, not in Berlin. 

But it had after all. “Political prisoner,” Magda said, tucking a strand of her short brown hair behind her ear. “Gestapo.” She screwed up her face, disgust evident. Martin shared her feelings. This was not exactly a rare occurrence, but it was a special kind of hell every time. Political prisoners made everyone uneasy, from those true believers who had had to adapt quickly after Berlin had fallen to those who had been on the receiving end of Nazi violence. 

They made Martin uneasy. Still, the Allies insisted on prisoners receiving the best possible treatment, in order for them to stand trial. Privately Martin suspected that the Soviets took a slightly more relaxed attitude towards the health of former Nazi officials. 

“In war and in peace, healing people just so they can be killed,” he said quietly. Magda gave him a sharp look. 

“Soft,” she said, disapprovingly, but she still gave him a friendly smile as they walked out into the ward. Martin could tell that both patients and staff were unsettled straight away. He sighed. It was going to be a long night. 

\---

By the time light was coming up over the ruins of the city, peeking in through the windows of the Charité’s temporary wards, Martin was exhausted. It had been one of those shifts: patients who were restless and anxious were more likely to tear stitches, drive up their blood pressure and need reassurance, calming down. 

He caught Magda’s eye across a bed as she refilled a patient’s IV and he checked her pulse.  _ Twenty minutes, _ Magda mouthed. Their patient, Sarah Stein, was a rail thin and scared looking young woman, barely twenty. She’d broken a leg on her return to Berlin and was at a high risk of infection. “Is it true?” she asked as Martin made a note of her heart rate. 

“Is what true?” Martin said, even though he knew what she was asking. He put his hand on her forehead. She was still too warm, clammy. He would need to have Dr Sauerbruch look at her when she came in for her morning rounds.

“That - that there’s a Gestapo officer here?” she said. He could barely hear her, she was so quiet. 

“Nothing to worry about,” he said. “You just need to rest and recover.” She shook her head rapidly and Magda had to press her shoulders down to make sure she didn’t knock out her IV or disturb her leg.

“Now, now,” she said, “don’t be silly. The war is over. You are safe.”

They’d become good at this, Martin realised: good at recognising that fear, good at reassuring quickly and efficiently. He wondered how long they would need to be good at it. Sarah looked from one to the other, slowly settling back down. She didn’t look entirely reassured. 

\---

At the end of their shift, Magda offered Martin a cigarette. They were in their usual spot, around the corner from the main entrance, behind a line of shrubs. The autumn sun was rising, warming them where they stood. 

“Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, coming back here for this,” Magda said, blowing out smoke. Martin nodded. Magda’s father was Danish, and had taken his family there in 1934, seeing the writing on the wall, and then moved the family again once Denmark became too risky. Her family was now settled in south Sweden. 

“Berlin gets in your bones,” Martin said, although he’d found himself wondering more than once whether staying had been the right choice. “And you’re a Berlin girl.” Magda had been born and raised in Kreutzberg until her father had made the choice to go. She’d returned initially as part of the Red Cross.

“So’s my mum,” Magda said, sighing. “And she seems content enough.” But she turned her face up to the sun, looking out at the tops of the buildings.

Martin did the same, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“My lovely Magda!” Martin opened his eyes and smiled. Otto was just arriving for his shift on the children’s ward. “When will you see reason and let me sweep you off your feet?” 

Magda snorted. “Unfortunately, my taste is far too sophisticated for your country-boy charm.” She tilted her head and gestured towards Martin. “I prefer city men.”

Otto shrugged, an exaggerated movement. “Well,” he said, lowering his voice, eyes going soft and fond in a way that still made Martin drop his gaze, unable to look at him for too long. “I can’t argue with good taste.” 

Martin covered his awkwardness by rolling his eyes. This had become a familiar joke between the three of them. “Hard night?” Otto asked, leaning against the wall next to Martin. Magda nodded. 

“Prisoner,” she said just as Martin said, “Erich died.” Otto looked at them sympathetically. 

“I am sorry,” he said. There wasn’t really anything else to say. Magda offered him a cigarette as well, and they stood together, smoking. After a couple of minutes, Magda and Otto started to talk about films and Martin let their chat wash over him, closing his eyes. 

This was how he knew the war was truly over, he thought; moments like this, quiet and slow and trivial. They still felt precious all these months later. 

Otto finished his cigarette, extinguishing it on the wall behind him. “Duty calls,” he said, smiling at both of them. He dropped Martin a wink and jogged toward the entrance. After a moment, his head reappeared around the line of bushes. “Anni!” he shouted, “don’t forget!” 

Martin nodded, waving him on. More staff were arriving now, their conversations drifting through the leaves and branches before disappearing around the corner. 

He and Magda walked out slowly. “Anni?” she asked when they were further away from the hospital. 

“Otto’s sister,” Martin explained. Magda raised her eyebrows.

“And she knows?” she asked and then, in response to Martin’s nod, “and she’s - she accepts it?”

“At the end of the war, we spent quite a bit of time together,” he said vaguely, the story of the attic too complicated to explain, “she is used to it.” 

“Hmm,” Magda said, but she didn’t add anything else. Martin was glad. He had his own misgivings about tonight. He didn’t want Magda’s concerns to add to it. “Well, good luck. I hope it all goes well. I’ll see you soon!” She turned down her street, waving. He waved back. 

“Say hello to Lilli for me,” he said. Magda smiled and waved again. 

\---

Coming home was another one of those things that reminded Martin again and again that the war was over. He still found it hard to believe it was theirs: a space where he and Otto could be themselves. A proper home, for all it was full of worn furniture and donated bits and bobs. He closed the door behind him and exhaled. It smelled of coffee, and Martin knew that when he went to the kitchen, he would find the pot Otto had brewed for him on low heat on their cooker. 

Shrugging off his coat and slipping off his shoes, he went into the apartment, popping down the few groceries he had needed to pick up in the kitchen and the ice box. He hadn’t been sure what Karin might want, but he figured that apple juice and milk should cover most needs.

After putting it away, he made his way to the living room to make sure it was relatively organised. Martin was neat by nature, he always had been; Otto, on the other hand, had a tendency to forget to put things away, leaving a path of his clothes or books scattered across the apartment. Martin wasn’t sure why it mattered to him that the apartment was tidy and looking its best, but it did. He picked up yesterday’s newspaper and a letter Otto had been writing, tidying them away in a chest drawer. 

Looking at the sofa, he rearranged the pillows, and then neatened up the bookshelves. With the best will in the world, their bookshelves would never be organised; a hodge-podge of medical text books, and pulp novels mixed in with books they’d bought off Lilli, whose sister sent them over from Britain - books that were still near impossible to get in Berlin. Rearranging them didn’t do much. Still, finally, Martin was satisfied that the living room was at an acceptable standard. 

He lingered by the photo of Otto, his mother and Anni on one of the bookshelves. It was still strange to look at the young man in the photo and consider the connection between him and Martin’s Otto, who had seen things, had had to be brave in a way that that young man, in his shiny-new uniform couldn’t have imagined. It made Martin’s heart ache.

After a moment, he shook himself and made his way to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. 

\---

The knock on the door shook him out of his daze. He had been standing in the kitchen by the window, looking out at the leaves and branches swaying in the wind. There was a school not far from the apartment and sometimes the sound of the children leaving at the end of the school day was audible. 

It wasn’t now, but it was still far too early for Anni and Karin to be arriving - Otto wouldn’t be back for at least another half an hour, if not longer. Otto had a tendency to fall into conversation after his shift and would sometimes turn up an hour later than expected. Martin could only hope that Anni’s visit would mean a quick return.

When he opened the door, Anni couldn’t quite hide her disappointment. She was clearly expecting Otto. It was on the tip of Martin’s tongue to say that he also wished Otto was there, but that would hardly help the situation. 

Then there was a quiet “Hello”. Martin looked down to see Karin, almost unrecognisable with how much she’d grown. She was hiding in her mother’s skirts, peeking out at him, her little blue eyes wary. 

She was adorable and smiling at her was easy. 

Anni and Karin followed him into the apartment. Karin was clearly shy, not used to meeting new people, and Martin was fascinated despite himself by her: the way she glanced up at him, the way she was clearly tracking Anni’s emotions as well. It wasn’t hard to connect her to the little girl he’d watched exploring the attic space, stumbling around but always getting back up, determined. He remembered holding her hands as she walked towards Otto, one of the rare quiet times they had together. 

He tried not to watch her too much though, making small talk with Anni as he dropped her stuff into what was nominally his room, in case of questions. The look on Anni’s face made him instantly regret mentioning it, however, and he ducked his head, hurrying them into the kitchen. 

Making the tea as Anni and Karin took in the view gave him a bit of time to look at them both. Anni looked exhausted and worn down, for all that she was, as always, well dressed and neat - although definitely less girlish than she had been at Charité. It took a moment for him to realise who she reminded him of - Margot. An odd thought. 

She was clearly tense, even as she held Karin up, talking to her in a low voice. Martin busied himself, pouring the juice, watering it down a little so it wasn’t too sweet. 

It was strange having Anni here. There was a period of time where she had been one of the most familiar features of his life; even if they did not see each other every day, they had spent enough time in the attic and at Otto’s bedside to have developed a sort of relationship. It shouldn’t be hard to spend time together now, when there were no bombs and nothing to be afraid of - or certainly, fewer things to be afraid of. But something about the way Anni watched him made him feel like he was being assessed. He worried he was being found wanting.

The sound of Otto’s key in the door was a relief. Martin smiled at Anni as he listened to the usual clattering of Otto’s entrance, looking over his shoulder. Otto was smiling as he came in, doing a double take when he saw Anni.

“I’m late!” he exclaimed, making an exaggeratedly apologetic face. “Can you forgive me?” Anni rolled her eyes, but she visibly relaxed, pleased to see Otto and smiling up at him. Martin hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should give them space, and then Otto had his arm around his waist, brushing a kiss against his temple. “Hey,” he said quietly. Martin felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Careful of the tea,” he said, but he could feel himself smiling, even as his eyes darted to Anni to check her reaction. She caught his eye and then looked down at Karin. 

It was not a surprise that Otto was good with Karin, dropping down to her height and speaking gently to her, holding out his hand without expecting anything. Otto had been splitting time between the children’s and adult’s surgery wards, and had been talking about specialising in children’s medicine. Children were easily charmed by Otto. Martin sympathised. 

Karin certainly seemed to be; she slowly walked forward, reaching out to hold onto Otto’s hand. Martin tore his gaze away to look back at Anni. She looked on the verge of tears, squeezing her hands together as she watched Otto and Karin. She caught him looking and he tried to give her a sympathetic smile. He wasn’t sure it translated. 

Now Karin was laughing at Otto, who was making faces, calling him “Silly, silly” over and over. 

Martin’s heart skipped a beat. He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you take Anni and Karin into the living room? I’ll make dinner,” he said. Otto smiled up at him. 

“All right,” he said, swinging Karin up into his arms and holding out a hand for Anni. Martin watched them go.

He stood for a moment in the kitchen, listening to the sounds from the living room: Otto and Anni’s voices muffled by the walls, and Karin's sharp, high voice cutting through. He took a deep breath.

If he was honest, some of what had him off-guard was jealousy. His own family had never been close. His father had died when Martin was barely more than nine. He’d been kind enough, but distracted, and had died from the same flu which had taken Martin’s older brother, Emil. His mother was no-nonsense, efficient and had always given the impression that any expression of emotion was embarrassing and unseemly. She’d remarried and moved out of Berlin around the time Martin had taken up with Peter, and now their interactions were confined to perfunctory calls at Easter and Christmas. Until the postal service had collapsed during the war, he’d received a card on his birthday every year. 

Otto and Anni’s family was so clearly different. The way they acted around each other, the way they spoke about each other: whatever they thought of each other’s choices or ideas, Martin couldn’t imagine anyone doubting how much they loved each other. 

Sometimes, Martin still had nightmares where it was Otto in the prison cell and he couldn’t find Anni. In the dreams, he knew she was the only one who could help, who could save them. Even in his wildest dreams, he couldn’t imagine anyone else who would have been able to pull off what she had done. For Otto. For him. 

He took another deep breath and made himself open the cupboard, pulling out tins and potatoes for their meal. He focused on the familiar movements of cooking, letting himself be soothed by the everydayness of it as the sun set slowly outside. 

\---

Dinner was surprisingly nice, Martin thought; he didn’t speak much, content to let Otto tell extravagant stories about the mischief that sometimes seemed to run riot on the children’s ward. “It’s as if something has lifted for them as well,” he said, “sometimes it is more than we can do to keep them in their beds, and from disturbing those who really need their sleep.”

“Mm, that tends to be less of an issue on the adult ward,” Martin said levelly, and Otto nodded, taking the reminder for what it was. 

“It’s still - I was never at Charité when it was ‘normal’,” Otto said, his tone sarcastic, “but it still feels very ramshackle sometimes.”

Anni nodded thoughtfully. “Bethel is the same,” she said, “but there is a real sense of - purpose, I suppose. It’s quite a -” she paused, clearly searching for the word, “serious place, perhaps.”

Martin was interested in spite of himself. He had heard a few things about the Bethel Sanatorium. “How do you mean?” he asked.

Her mouth tightened. “I’m - it’s hard to explain,” she said, shaking her head slightly. 

“Tell us about where you are living,” Otto cut in, topping up Anni’s water. “I think you mentioned a neighbour, Nina - was that her name?” 

When the conversation eventually did return to Anni’s patients, Martin noted how carefully she spoke about them; like she was learning a new language or way of expressing herself. He watched Karin, concentrating on her water glass, and thought maybe he understood, a little. 

\---

To say that Otto was wholly smitten with Karin might be understating it. Martin watched him as Karin drifted off on his lap, his focus entirely absorbed in her every move. It was sweet, Martin thought, looking over at Anni. She had a soft, sad look on her face. 

“Shh, little one,” Otto said, as Karin’s eyes finally shut completely, no longer able to resist the impulse to sleep. “Shall I put her to bed?” he asked, “she must have missed my singing.” Martin snorted at that, bumping Otto’s shoulder. 

Anni gave a short, almost curt nod. “That would be nice,” she said and suddenly Martin realised that this meant being alone with Anni again. This time without the distraction of Karin. He looked down at the table as Otto carried Karin out of the room.

“Otto should have children,” Anni said, and Martin snapped his head up. 

“You’re a doctor,” he said.

It was almost a relief, really, when Anni started talking: at least now he knew. 

“Moving him to Bethel won’t change him,” he said, voice sharper than he intended it. His forefinger was pressing Otto’s cross into his collarbone. He didn’t remember reaching for it. It was hard to rein in his temper; to not snap that she was hardly best placed to defend the family’s ability to create happiness. He reminded himself that this was Anni, that she was saying this out of love for Otto, wanting the best for him. It still stung - and stung all the more for Anni’s clear assumption that Martin didn’t care whether Otto spoke to his mother, or had friends, or was able to be honest and open.

As if his honesty and openness weren’t two of the things Martin loved most about him. 

But the thing was Anni wasn’t wrong. Martin wanted to throw the small group of friends they had gathered around them down as evidence but he couldn’t: Magda, Lilli, Albert, Jannik and Karla - their secrets weren’t his to tell. They were the kind of thing Otto couldn’t mention in his letters home, in any phone calls to his mother. The ghost of the old clammy fear rose in him: that this silo-ing off of different worlds might eventually be too hard for Otto; that he might want someone he could tell his mother about. 

Martin took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes. “I want him to be happy,” he said. “I want him to be happy too.”

He heard Otto’s footsteps and hurried to push his glasses back on. Still he couldn’t imagine that Otto was fooled by him or Anni’s attempts to cover the tension in the room. For a long moment, Martin wondered whether Otto was going to get them to tell him what had happened, but instead Otto just stroked his hand across Martin’s shoulders, a familiar gesture. Martin relaxed a bit. 

“I think I’ll turn in as well,” Anni said, getting up. “Thank you for a lovely evening. The food really was delicious.” Martin looked up at her and nodded. 

Otto hugged her. “Sleep tight,” he said and then after a moment, “I am so glad you came.”

Martin looked down at his hands. 

\---

Martin watched as Otto undid his tie, throwing it haphazardly over the back of a chair. He started unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’ve missed her,” Martin said, shrugging off his own shirt, and sitting down on the bed to sort his leg out. Otto looked at him and then came to kneel in front of him. “I can do it myself, you know,” Martin said, although he knew it was a pointless protest. Otto gave him a mock-stern look, and pushed his hands out of the way. 

“Are you going to tell me?” Otto asked, undoing the straps of the prosthetic carefully and putting it away. He stroked over the reddened skin where the leather had dug in, reaching for the ointment behind him with his other hand.

Martin sighed. “Anni wanted to make her feelings known,” he said and when Otto continued to watch him, he added, “she doesn’t approve of me. She doesn’t think you can be happy, living like this.” He sighed again as the cool of the cream soothed his skin. “In secret.”

Otto looked at him for a long moment. “And what do you think?” he said, tone neutral. His face was careful and almost guarded. 

Martin leaned forward, stroking a hand over Otto’s hair, and smiled down at him. “You know I’ve given up on the idea that I could ever get rid of you,” he said, trying to muster as much sarcasm as possible. He failed; his voice came out fond, and Otto’s lips turned up. 

“Don’t you forget it,” he said, stretching up so that he could kiss Martin, soft, sweet and familiar. Martin smiled into the kiss. “I’ll speak to Anni,” Otto said when they broke apart, leaning his forehead against Martin’s. Martin stroked his hand over Otto’s nape, coming down to rest on his bare shoulders. 

“You don’t have to on my account,” he said, even though part of him was thrilled that Otto was willing to. Otto pulled back a bit to make eye contact. 

“I think if I can stare down Nazis and survive a bullet, I can talk to Anni,” he said and Martin laughed, in spite of himself. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be the first time.” He took Martin’s hand and kissed it. “Come on, you must be exhausted. Let’s go to sleep.”

Martin pulled him in for one more kiss, just because he could. “All right,” he said. He couldn’t entirely seem to stop smiling. 

\---

Martin was always the first of them to wake, so it was a surprise for him to come awake as Otto turned over, ready to get out of bed. He put his hand on Otto’s hip. “Hm?” he said, barely a noise, but it made Otto turn.   
“I was trying not to wake you,” Otto said quietly. “Anni’s up. I thought I’d speak to her.” He leaned down to kiss Martin’s forehead. “Back to sleep.”

“Do you need me to do anything?” he asked. Otto shrugged. 

“Let us know if the shouting gets too loud?” he offered. 

Martin frowned sleepily. “Try not to give the neighbours reason to talk,” he told Otto. Otto rolled his eyes, but he ran a hand through Martin’s hair before he got up. 

\---

In their bedroom, Martin rolled onto his back, looking at the ceiling above him. It wasn’t that he worried Anni would change Otto’s mind, not really.

But there had been a time when Martin couldn’t quite believe that he and Otto had a future together, that they would find a way to stay together after everything. As Berlin fell and the Soviet army began to establish some new version of order, Martin was aware of people becoming less careful. More than once, he’d stumbled around a corner, carrying supplies from one temporary ward to another or fetching water for the patients, for the operating theatre, for the kitchens, only to come across a couple locked together. There had been a shamelessness then, Berliners living like it was the end of the world.

Martin had felt it too, that constant ricocheting between elation that the war was over, horror at the destruction (the dead bodies took so long to clear and the rubble was still an issue; sometimes he still saw it when he closed his eyes: Berlin on fire, her people dying), and beneath it all, the teetering uncertainty of what would happen next that made planning feel futile and pointless. But his days were filled with patients and helping to restore some sort of order to what remained of the Charité. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was sleeping or checking in with Otto. 

Anni and he had had a sort of rota; they were rarely at Otto’s bedside at the same time for long, but there was a comfort in coming in and seeing her there, knowing that Otto hadn’t been alone. Of course, Anni could stay longer than Martin could, stroking Otto’s forehead, holding his hand. Otto was on a public ward, in a hospital under Soviet and Allied observation. There was no room for recklessness, not least with Otto’s precarious status as a deserter. So far, no repercussions had been forthcoming and Martin was beginning to allow himself to believe that none would, but he was not going to tempt fate. So he stayed as little as he could bear, bringing Otto what news he could of the outside world, and tried to satisfy himself with looking, watching colour return to Otto’s face, hearing his voice grow stronger. There was no sign of infection, thank God.

He and Anni were not the only visitors Otto had; the Sauerbruchs both came by occasionally, Margot more than her husband, and there was a scattering of Red Cross nurses, brought in to support the remaining staff, who were charmed by him. Martin sometimes saw one in particular, a sweet red-headed Bavarian girl smiling down at Otto, chiding him to finish his meals and teasing him about his sweet tooth. Soldiers falling in love with their nurses wasn’t rare, Martin knew; it was a popular theme in the magazines which got shared around the temporary staff room. Looking over at Hilda and Otto, it was easy to see the appeal of the story. 

Hilda was there when Anni and Otto’s mother finally made it to Berlin. She was a handsome woman, but weighed down with worry which bowed her back and made her face ashen. As she came towards Otto, she visibly straightened, as if letting go of a heavy load, and her eyes lit up in a way that Martin recognised: Otto got his open expression from her. Hilda smiled at her. “Oh, he’s by far our cheekiest patient,” Martin heard her say, provoking a laugh from Frau Maquardt and Martin busied himself with the bed he was supposed to be making.

He avoided Otto’s bedside that day. 

Frau Marquardt came the day after, and the day after that as well. Martin found other things to do in the hospital and when his shift ended, he collapsed into his bed in the staff quarters and fell asleep easily. 

On the fourth day of Mrs Marquardt’s visit, she came to find him. “Herr Schelling?” she asked, and he looked up at her. 

“Yes? Frau Marquardt, is that right?” he asked, as if he didn’t know. She smiled politely, but there was a warmth in her eyes as she nodded. She reached out and grasped his hand.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “Thank you for what you did for my son. Anni told me he would never have made it to the bunker without you.”

Martin blinked slowly, thinking carefully over what to say. “It was the right thing to do,” he said eventually, trying not to let any emotion show on his face. “Otto has made a real impression on the Charité. Everyone is very fond of him.” He couldn’t meet Frau Marquardt’s eyes when he said it. But he looked up afterwards and she was smiling, a watery sort of expression.

“I am so glad,” she said, still holding his hand. “Sister Hilda said the same thing, how much everyone likes Otto. I am so glad he’s not - that the war didn’t -. It means - Otto’s always been my sunshine. It means so much that he is safe and among friends. When he deserted, I was so scared that he was on his own, that I had lost him.” She broke off, swallowing what might have been a sob. Martin put his other hand over hers where it was clinging to him.

“He’s safe now,” he said helplessly. She nodded spasmodically.

“And in good hands,” she said, as if convincing herself. “Sauerbruch is the best in the country and Sister Hilda seems to care for him very well. And Anni is here.” She was speaking to herself now, Martin was sure, and he wished he could leave. After a moment, she looked at him again. She released his hand. “Thank you again, Herr Schelling. I can never make it up to you, but know how grateful I am.” 

She left that afternoon, but Martin still shied away from Otto’s bedside, telling himself he was too busy. He didn’t see Otto the day after. The following day, he overheard Sister Hilda excitedly telling Sister Magda that Otto was standing up and walking around. 

“Good,” Sister Magda said shortly. “He’ll be of some use soon, then.” Sister Hilda looked crestfallen, and Martin found himself torn between anger at Sister Magda’s callousness over Otto and amusement at her impatience with Hilda’s girlishness. 

Another day passed, and then two more, and suddenly it was over a week since he’d last spent any time at Otto’s side. He tried to tell himself it was for the best.

It had been ten days when Fraulein Fritsch found him one afternoon. “Dr Sauerbruch would like you to fetch more bandages from the old storeroom,” she said, smiling at him. It was strange, but not unusual, for her to run messages to the ward. It was stranger to be sent to the old storeroom, the one remaining working supply room in the main Charité building. Martin had been under the impression that it was being used for stockpiled supplies, and they shouldn’t be near running low yet. Still, an order from Dr Sauerbruch was an order. 

At first, seeing someone in the stockroom, he thought it might be a looter, someone desperate enough to try robbing a hospital. Then he realised that the person was standing too still, leaning on a crutch; then his eyes adjusted, and it was Otto standing there, watching him carefully. 

God, it was good to see him, Martin thought; to see him standing there, looking almost his old self. Martin had missed him terribly. He could admit that now, here; he had ached for Otto, to be able to touch him, kiss him. And here he was.

Martin didn’t move. Otto took half a step towards him, hesitant. “I wasn’t sure if you were avoiding me,” he said plainly. “So I thought I’d find out.”

“Dr Sauerbruch…?” Martin asked, trailing off. Otto shrugged. 

“She offered to help,” he said. “She came to check on me, to see when I might be ready to work. I think she was surprised you weren’t there.”

“It wasn’t safe,” Martin said. “And you shouldn’t have asked -”

“I know,” Otto replied brusquely. There was a note in his voice, though, which betrayed his distress. “But I didn’t know what else to do.” Martin opened his mouth, but Otto cut him off. “Martin,” he said suddenly. “Have you changed your mind? About -” his voice wobbled and he looked down. “About me?” Martin’s voice stuck in his throat and Otto must have taken it for hesitation, because he moved back, stung. “You said - we talked about after, Martin. When you asked me to stay in Berlin, I thought...I had thought you meant with you.”

Martin had: in those last heady days, he had let himself imagine a brighter future, the two of them together in a rebuilt Berlin. But how possible was that, really? When he couldn’t even sit by Otto’s bedside when he was sick, couldn’t hold his hand - when a nurse who had been in Berlin mere weeks could speak more freely to his mother than Martin could?

“You deserve -” Martin started, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “You deserve someone you can take home to your mother. Someone who will stay by you, who can stay by you. Someone who doesn’t have to hide.” He couldn’t look at Otto, knew his bravery would vanish the moment he looked at Otto’s shining eyes, his down-turned mouth.

There was a sound too much like a sob in the silence of the stockroom and Martin’s head snapped up. Otto looked destroyed. 

“Do you - are you -” he took a deep, shuddery breath, “do you not lo - do you not want that anymore? Do you not want me?” 

Martin had been prepared for Otto to fight him, to tell him he was wrong. He would have been able to defend himself against that. But this: that Otto might think Martin had grown bored, had second thoughts about  _ Otto _ \- he was across the room in three steps. 

“I want you to be happy,” he said even as he was pulling Otto to him, tucking Otto’s wet face in between his shoulder and throat. He could feel the sobs wracking Otto, his tears reminding him of that night, an age ago now, when he’d found Otto in the staff corridor. Martin held him tighter. “Otto, please, all I want is for you to be as happy as you deserve, to have all the things you deserve. Please don’t cry, darling, please.” He barely knew what he was saying, clinging to Otto as Otto clung to him, like drowning men. He stroked Otto’s hair, his shoulders, down his spine, grasping at him, his whole and hale and alive body.

Otto pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes were bright with tears and rimmed red; his breath was hiccupy, trying to catch his breath. “You’re crying,” he said, and then said, “you’ve never called me that before.” One side of his mouth twitched upwards. 

Martin didn’t know what to say to him. He just looked at him, taking him in. The faint smile faded on Otto’s face. “ _ I _ want our future,” he said, determinedly. “I want you and I won’t be happy without you.” He said it plainly; he didn’t seem to be pleading anymore. 

Martin swallowed and swallowed again. “I love you,” he said, aware suddenly that he had never said it before like this - only ever as a reply to Otto, and even then rarely. “If - if it is worth it to you, then it’s worth it to me.”

The look on Otto’s face alone was worth it, Martin thought dazedly, watching the way his eyes lit up, the way the smile transformed his face. Martin was helpless in the face of it, leaning forward to kiss him. Otto met him halfway. 

After that, there had been very little further discussion of whether they would stay together. It wasn’t that the same fears didn’t still afflict Martin from time to time; but he knew Otto too well now to air them, and let himself instead be reassured by the increasingly lived-in quality of their life together: this flat, this bed. Getting up, eating, sleeping together. Their small group of friends. The way Otto’s eyes went soft sometimes watching him; the ease with which Otto reached out for him, pressing kisses to his forehead, against his cheek as they passed in the flat. Evenings spent listening to the radio and dancing in their socks, or curled up on the sofa reading. There was a daily-ness to their togetherness now which had proved Otto right again and again: they could be happy. They could make each other happy. 

He hoped Otto could convince Anni of that. Martin wanted, with an almost irrational fervor, for her to know how happy Otto made him; for her to recognise it and acknowledge it. 

\---

When he came into the living room, Anni, Otto and Karin were all on the sofa together. Anni gestured for him to come in. “I owe you an apology,” she said. “You make Otto happy. I know that. I just forgot for a while.” Anni’s apology was clear and unhesitating. She looked like she had been crying, but she tilted her chin up and looked straight at him. He recognised the expression on her face. He’d seen it often enough on her brother. It was hard not to smile at the similarity, but he didn’t want to break the moment so he nodded, adjusting his glasses.

Afterwards, he sat with them on the sofa, leaning on Otto. It was strange, sitting here; he wondered if this was what it was like to have a real family: to be able to sit in the quiet with each other, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

It was Karin who broke the silence. “Hungry, mum,” she said insistently. Otto laughed and after a moment, Anni and Martin did too, glancing at each other. He liked this, he decided, what felt like a fragile new truce between them, It reminded him of the attic, of their shifts with Otto, but this felt cleaner. Clearer. He pushed himself up from the sofa. 

“I’m sure I can find breakfast,” he said. 

\---

Otto insisted on walking Anni and Karin to the train station, Anni’s bag slung over one shoulder and Karin holding his other hand. 

“Would you like to come?” Anni asked. Martin smiled at her.   
“Are you sure you don’t want time alone with Otto?” he asked. Anni looked at Otto and Karin, chatting away. She grinned a little.

“I suspect he might be lost to the world for the time being,” she said.

Down on the street, she offered Martin her arm and he took it. They walked behind Karin and Otto, which meant stopping occasionally when Karin needed to marvel at something. 

“It’s strange being back,” Anni said, looking at the gap in the street where three houses had once stood. “It’s like I can’t quite remember what it looked like when I first arrived, but I also can’t quite believe this is Berlin, you know?” She turned to look at Martin. “You’re from here, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” he said and then added, “I grew up not too far from Charité, actually.”

She nodded. “So it must be even stranger for you.” He thought about it. Honestly, he shared Anni’s sense of not being able to fully remember Berlin before the war; it had changed so much, even before the bombings, it was hard to really picture it. When he didn’t say anything, Anni said, “It’s not just the buildings, though, is it? I feel like I can’t recognise the people either.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about Artur, but he wasn’t sure how far their current truce went. Instead he said, “It’s hard, isn’t it? The way everything has changed.”

Anni looked at him with something he thought might be gratitude. She said quietly, “Sometimes I’m not sure what I did to deserve to make it through. So many people.”

Martin nodded. He’d had the same thought many times. “I don’t know either. Sometimes I think about all the ways I came close, the risks I took,” and he looked at Otto, swinging Karin up to sit on his shoulders. “And I guess, the things I didn’t do. The ways in which I cooperated.” It was strange to describe, hard to talk about - particularly with people who weren’t there at the end, who didn’t see Berlin as it burned, or hear the shots being fired, or saw children, women and men fighting, gunned down in the street. 

Anni squeezed his arm and he wondered if she was remembering the same things. They both watched Otto and Karin up ahead. “I am glad you did take the risks you took,” Anni said eventually. “And I am glad you were there as well, with Otto and Karin. Even if I wasn’t good at showing it.”

Martin shrugged, but he could feel his face going red. “It was an honour,” he said, meaning it. “And I will never not be grateful to you. For saving my life.” He waved a hand in front of him, and didn’t add, thank you for letting me have a chance at this life. Smiling down at Anni, he thought she might know anyway. She smiled back up at him.

They walked a little further, comfortably quiet. There were the ruins of a park up ahead, and despite its destroyed state, Martin could still hear the cries of children calling to each other as they played there. As they got closer, Martin noticed Karin watching them avidly. Anni was watching her too with her eyes full. 

Otto slowed to let them catch up. Karin tore herself away from the children to say, “Mum, mum,” reaching out for Anni to take her. Otto handed her over with a bit of a rueful smile as Anni let go of Martin. He smiled at them both in turn.

“Friends?” he asked. Martin and Anni glanced at each other as Anni settled Karin in her arms. 

“Friends?” Anni said, echoing Otto’s tone. They both looked at Martin and it struck him again how similar they were. He smiled.

“Friends,” he agreed.

\---

He brought Magda a coffee halfway through their shift, standing with her in a quiet corner of the ward. “Slow one today, eh?” she said, taking it. Martin groaned.

“Don’t jinx it,” he said, sipping his own cup. “It’s so rare.”

She laughed. “Do you think it’s a sign of things settling down?” she asked, glancing out of the window. Martin followed her gaze. It was raining, grey streams obscuring the city. You could almost pretend, he thought.

“It’s a slow half day,” he said, enjoying the heat of the mug in his hand. “Let’s not get too excited.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pessimist?” Magda asked, nudging him with her shoulder. Martin pretended to consider it. 

“I prefer to think of myself as a realist,” he said and then wondered if that was still true. He smiled, hiding it behind another sip. He and Magda drank in silence for a long moment. 

“How was the family dinner?” she asked, breaking the quiet. Instinctively, Martin’s eyes snapped to the nearest patient, but of course no one was actually listening. 

“It was good,” he said, “Nice, actually. I think - I think the family is all right.” Magda watched him carefully.

“Yes?” she said, making it a question. 

  
“Yes,” Martin said, not quite believing it himself. She smiled up at him. 

“Good,” she said, “and good for the country boy too.” Martin rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. He couldn’t quite stop, even as they returned to work. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on my first two fics. This is such a lovely fandom!
> 
> (I feel like one of Martin's most consistent character traits is that he is, in fact, a pessimist, but Otto makes it harder for him to stay that way and I love that a lot).


End file.
